FW 1946: UXB Chapter 35 and beyond (M-rated version)
by Wolseley37
Summary: All upheavals, obstacles and delays behind them, Christopher and Samantha return home after the rather significant events at the charity auction, ready to enter into a new kind of life together.
1. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 35(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Christopher Foyle and Samantha Stewart/Wainwright jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended. A fan tribute.

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><p>UXB Chapter 35 (M-rated version)<p>

**Thursday night...**

They had each carried a basket in from the car and, after divesting themselves of coats, hat, gloves and cane, taken them through to the kitchen, remarking on the kindness and evident gratitude of _Monsieur_ LaChance. Christopher and Sam stood together at the table, examining the bounty and deciding where various goods needed to be stored - or, at least, trying to. Both were somewhat distracted.  
>But they'd found a whole chicken in brown paper, potted sharp cheddar cheese, real butter, a lemon, apples, and three oranges, all of which Sam had exclaimed over, and they had deposited these in the icebox or pantry. Other tinned and nonperishable items, and a half-dozen bread rolls wrapped up in a cloth napkin, had been admired and replaced in the basket, or were cluttering the table, along with her smaller basket of chocolate.<p>

With his right arm around Sam's waist, Christopher picked up the bottle of wine and studied the label.

She tilted her head in interest, "Is that the same wine that Alan won?"

"_Er_, it _is_ a _Romanée-Conti_, but this is the 1921 vintage. An excellent year." Not turning from his perusal, he asked lightly, "...Sshall I open it?"

Sam smiled at the table top, "Oh, no, darling. I'm feeling quite intoxicated enough...and we should share it with _friends_, don't you think?"

"Yes, quite agree." The pink tip of his tongue made a brief sweep on his lips. "..._I'm_ in no need of...priming." He set the bottle down.

She giggled, blushing charmingly, and turned to him, "Well, then, _em_, perhaps these other things can wait until tomorrow?"

Without quite meeting her look, Christopher reached up and, lightly biting his lower lip as he focussed on the task, carefully removed the pin securing her little hat to her hair, and set both on the table. Then he addressed her fondly,  
>"You were...<em>wonderful<em> tonight, Samantha. I was very proud."

A little nervous, now, she attempted a breezy attitude, "I quite enjoyed helping you capture Cleary... A walking stick or a dustbin lid, whatever comes to hand, I'm your girl..."

"You _know_ that's not what I meant." he said with quiet patience. "Samantha. You were _wonderful_, as my partner this evening."

Sam closed her eyes in pleasure at the remark, all smiles. She sensed him move closer to rest his hands on her shoulders, felt his lips on her brow, her cheek, and she met him in a kiss of fond contentment that soon transformed into one of mutual searching, craving, entreating and coaxing. They broke off, breathing elevated, eyes glazed with the fog of desire.  
>He petitioned softly by her ear, stroking her arms,<br>"Shall we, _em_...?"

"Yes."

And so he took her hand to lead her upstairs, switching off the kitchen and hall lights as they passed. On the landing Christopher faced her again, holding both her hands in his, eyes glowing a warm sky-blue.

"Take as long as you need, darling."

He folded her close to him, and she felt his palms glide upwards on her back, to her nape, where his fingers unfastened the hook-and-eye closure of her frock. Then the sensation of cool air on her slip made her shiver, as he drew down the zipper to the small of her back.  
>Tilting her chin up with a crooked finger, he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, then released her, adding, with an arch of an eyebrow,<br>"...But not, _em_, _very_ long."

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><p>Foyle stood in his bedroom, waiting, hands on hips again just as he'd done early that morning when Sam had invaded his bathroom shaving ritual. Half-smiling, worrying his cheek, and staring out the doorway to the landing, he thought of how quickly things had progressed since then. How things were about to progress, now.<br>He wore his dressing gown, and nothing else, quite sure pyjamas were not called for. To prepare the room he'd both lit the fire and opened the window, put the bedside lamps on, drawn the coverlet into an accordion fold at the foot of the bed, and pulled the top-sheet artfully aside. Sam was changing in the bathroom. Now he waited.

His fingers drummed lightly against his upper thigh.

Soon Samantha emerged, carrying her clothes over her arm, and walked discreetly away into the back bedroom, to put her things in the wardrobe. He ducked in to attend to his own nighttime cleansing and grooming, then returned to his room.

Only a moment later she approached, a lovely vision with a shy smile, cheeks suffused with a pink blush, her hair brushed out in glossy waves, all other adornment, save her engagement ring, removed, and her light cornflower-blue dressing gown tied with a neat bow at the waist.  
>In his mind's eye Foyle remembered the first time he'd seen her out of uniform, at the station, with her hair down, dressed fetchingly for an evening of dancing in a frock of nearly the same colour. And he remembered how <em>that<em> first sight of her, as a stunningly pretty girl quite unconnected to wartime duty, had affected him. His heart filled with emotion and he took in a steadying breath.

Christopher came forward to stand in the doorway. He slipped his left hand nonchalantly into a pocket, and placed his right hand high on the frame. Sam hesitated, noting his stance. She made a quarter-turn and leant her back against the doorpost, under the angle of his arm, hands behind her.

"You...barring me from coming in?" She asked casually, jigging a knee slightly up and down in a nervous fidget.

"Far from it. Simply wanted to appreciate the moment." He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. Sam shut her eyes, smiling.

"No second thoughts, then?" She turned her face towards him, brushing her nose on his.

"Nnope."

His bright blue irises filled her vision, communicating trust and devotion. He brought his left hand up to caress her cheek. They gazed into each other's eyes, calmly, lovingly, both breathing deeply, and then he met her lips in a kiss as chaste, and as sincere, as the kiss they would share at the altar on their wedding day.

Sam shifted to free her hands, to run them along the sides of his dressing gown and around his back, and he put his arms around her, drawing her into a close embrace.  
>She opened her lips beneath his, seeking his tongue with hers.<p>

Foyle pulled away with a flash of a grin, "_Hmm_, who's in charge here?"

"What? No one's in _charge_, Christopher, we're..."

Before she finished he gave a low sort of growl by her ear, and turned her around across the doorway. In a deft move he dipped his knees to press his right shoulder into her middle, then straightened. Suddenly Sam found herself, with a little yelp of surprise, lifted up and over his broad shoulder staring at the floor and his bare heels. Christopher carried her easily into the bedroom, an arm around her legs. After a friendly pat of her backside, which provoked another outcry, he lowered her carefully onto the sheets, and stood back to look down at her lying on the bed, his arms slightly flexed and hands open, with a self-satisfied smirk.

Sam stared up at him, wide-eyed and, for the second time since they'd left the party, slack-jawed. Realizing she had no real wish to object to the treatment, she broke into a delighted, if curious, grin,  
>"Oh, I <em>say<em>...!"  
>Raising herself onto her elbows, she saw her robe had gone askew, exposing her left breast. She glanced down at her state of deshabille and then, with glittering eyes, back at him, challenging,<br>"_Look_ what you've done..."

"Have I? Well, best be fair, then."  
>He walked around to the far side of the bed, faced her, and began untying the belt of his dressing gown, but then hesitated, biting the inside of his lip. Her eyes glowing with excitement and desire, Sam raised a knee to push herself further up the bed onto the pillow. The skirt of her robe slipped, revealing a slender thigh nearly up to the hip, and she offered him an invitation,<p>

"Darling, isn't it time you... _finished_ unwrapping your present…?"

With a crooked smile he dipped his head and pulled open his robe, letting it fall from his shoulders to the floor, as if to say, _'well, here's yours.'_

Sam watched him, eyes wide with interest, and looked at his body, displayed for her approval - his broad well-built chest, with its unexpectedly ruddy areolae and its neat mat of fur tapering to a line running down past his navel. She saw the livid scar of the bayonet puncture on his left side, the marks of various past wounds and army doctors' work. She saw his softly padded though still flat stomach, his shapely, muscular legs, and drawing her eyes like a magnet, springing thick and nearly half-erect already from the dark, greying nest, his quite impressive manhood. Blushing red, Sam bit her lower lip, and managed to murmur, as she reached across to pull down the sheet on his side,

'C-Christopher... Do come to bed.'

In two strides he settled onto his right flank on the mattress and rolled to face her. Sam edged into the centre of the bed, laid a hand on his biceps, as he rested on an elbow. Lying back on the pillow she looked up to meet his searching gaze.  
>Nervously she suggested,<br>"_I_ have... f-far too many clothes on, haven't I?"

"_Hmm_, let me help."  
>He pulled apart the bow, watching her eyes to gauge her confidence. Then he pushed the robe aside to reveal her lithe form and inhaled slowly through his nose as he gazed reverently over her.<p>

Sam's own breathing was quickening, and she asserted in a small voice, "...We can manage this, I think."

He answered firmly with a nod, "Oh, yes."

He helped her further, to sit up and remove the dressing gown entirely, and he pressed his lips softly to her shoulder. Slipping a hand around the back of his neck she drew him down into a kiss, letting him sense her deep longing, her hunger for fulfillment. His response was assured, probing, almost forceful. At the first touch of his warm hand, caressing her waist and gliding upwards, she trembled in delight.  
>He broke away from the kiss, bent his head to the breast he cupped in his hand, took it into his mouth, stroking her rising nipple with his wet tongue. He eased back on the bed and gave equal attention to the other. Sam watched him suckle, her lips parted in pleasure, admiring the always surprisingly long fringe of his lashes.<p>

He kissed each erect nipple and met her eyes again, remarking eagerly,  
>"<em>Mmm<em>, Ssam, the sketch..., Sir Leonard ..._hardly_ did you justice, y'know..."

She gave him an upside-down smile of gratitude and caressed his broad, well-muscled chest, feeling the strong thudding of his heart. Then his hand slid to her belly. She shivered again with anticipation.

Her fingers followed the trail of fine greying hair over his soft, warm flesh, down to his navel. _His_ hand ventured further, to rest over her red-gold mound, fingers playing lightly over the secret, sensitive parts below. She felt a rush of exhilaration, drawing in a sharp breath. Christopher glanced up into her face, seeking assurance in her eyes that all was well.

Now his kiss was a gentle petition, in marked contrast to the hard throb she felt pressing insolently against her thigh. Looking down, Samantha saw he was fully, dauntingly erect, a sight far beyond her previous experience. Christopher took her hand and laid it over himself, and it leaped at her touch. As she softly caressed him, moving slowly upwards from his tightly clenched balls along his iron length to the pulsing exposed head, a slight sound, like a pleading sort of whimper, escaped his lips.

Her stomach swooped, and in answer to his unspoken entreaty she lifted a knee, granting his fingers access to caress her in return, and he slipped them over, and gently into, her wetness. She inhaled slowly through her teeth, pushing her head back into the pillow. Then he kissed her with unrestrained fervour, probing hotly with tongue above and fingers below, but suddenly drew back, with a wide-eyed glance.  
>His voice was hoarse with lust,<p>

"Darling, I'm, _uh_, heading south, if that's all right?" And he shifted down the bed.

Breast rising and falling in excitement, Sam watched anxiously, not understanding his intention, as he trailed kisses along her midline to her navel, and took position between her thighs. When he resumed his devouring kisses below, she gasped from the overpowering ecstasy of the sensation, entirely new to her. Lapping and stroking her most sensitive flesh with his supple tongue and firm mouth, he hummed his own pleasure against her. Sam reached up behind her with both hands to clutch the pillow, and cried out with unreserved joy. She didn't see his grin of triumph as she helplessly stretched and arched towards his attentions, keening for release from such delicious torment. But he knew when to stop, sensing her breaths shorten to panting moans.

Again he shifted, stalking upwards, climbing her body, following a tongue-wet-trail of kisses from hip to navel to rib, to breasts where he paused to suckle once more, then on to clavicle, to throat, and he came to lie over her, propped on his forearms, hands curling up from below over her slender shoulders, set to brace her. She'd never felt so claimed, so protected, so secure.

He mouthed her neck hungrily, and breathed urgently,  
>"<em>You will tell me, Sam, if...?<em>"

"_Yes... Oh, please..._" She raised up her thighs to cradle him, welcoming him, urging him closer.

With a practiced hand he aligned himself, stroked her slick opening with his engorged head, then probed slowly inwards, halting with a deep groan after a mere few inches, as her firm silky flesh received and closed tightly around his hard shaft,  
>"...<em>God!<em> ...Sam, this...this may be rather quick..." He glanced anxiously into her eyes.

She gasped, already dangerously lightheaded, and caressed the back of his neck and head to reassure him,  
>"...<em>Mmmh...!<em> Me...too... _Oh, god_, Christopher...!"

He proceeded further, but penetrated slowly, mindful of her comfort, their brief guttural moans increasing to open-mouthed groans of ecstasy. As Sam arched up to receive him, he threw his head back with a low tormented cry. Taking him in deeper, she was beginning already to shudder with waves of pleasure. When she had his whole length pulsing inside her, he paused, gasping against her throat, to master himself and vow to her,  
><em>"SSamantha...my ddarling girl... Llove you, cherish you, forever..."<em>  
>He raised his head to look adoringly into her deep chocolate amber-lit eyes, saw her features transformed by radiant joy and desire, saw her love shining through, and his heart swelled with pride, seeing her trust and total surrender to him.<p>

She wrapped her arms around his neck, melded her mouth to his, her tongue to his... until he moved his hips to withdraw half his length, then she turned her head to gasp. He pushed in again, slowly, gently, both moaning in utter abandonment to the sensation. Another slow retreat and Sam's eyes nearly rolled back in her head. His next was a sure, long, powerful thrust, his hands bracing her shoulders, and she uttered a low groan she hadn't known she was capable of. Sam instinctively lifted her legs to wrap around his waist, drawing him down even deeper, and she felt a groundswell building within. Her hips rolled upwards to meet him, again, again, then once again, until she was completely overpowered.

Their breaths ceased entirely for a long moment as they reached their pinnacle together, found each other's deepest core, and then with a few final reciprocal thrusts their wild cries of ecstasy joined as shuddering waves possessed them, and she felt him pulsing strong and deep inside her… Samantha managed to open her eyes, to see the face of her lover, her Christopher, transformed in boyish, beatific thrall to his climax.  
>And she vowed to give him this as often as possible.<p>

They lay panting together, convulsively pushing into each other, breathless and stunned for some moments. Then Sam ran her hands gratefully, rhythmically up and down his heaving broad back, revelling in this complete union - until she began to feel that her breathing really was in fact stifled by his weight on top of her.  
>His strength seemed to have utterly collapsed, and his head lay heavily on the pillow beside hers. He'd turned his face away, his dark grey curls softly tickling her cheek and neck. She became aware of a change in the cadence of his breaths. He was sucking in short gasps, and clearly trying to disguise the sound. Sam realized, in some confusion and concern, that he was weeping.<p>

She brought her hand up to stroke his head,  
>"Christopher...? Whatever's the... matter...? Darling...?" Her voice came out weak and airless below his muscular shoulder, which prompted him instantly up onto his forearms.<p>

He answered in almost a sob,  
>"<em>Ssorry<em>! Sorry, my darling..."

He took in a long, shaking, calming breath and turned tear-filled eyes towards her, a tender smile wavering on his expressive lips,  
>"Just...<em>um<em>...rather... overjoyed. _Mmy god...!_ Come here, _come to me_... Sweetheart. ..._darling_ girl."  
>And he pulled her with him as he rolled back to settle onto his side, cradling her head on his folded arm. He brushed his tears away with the heel of a hand, chest still heaving both with emotion and from his exertions. When he focussed his eyes on hers, he broke into a beaming grin.<p>

Sam gazed at him with a look of adoring wonder, through damp and tousled strands of hair, and smiled shyly,  
>"We... seem to have managed rather well, haven't we."<p>

And Christopher laughed. A deep, rolling laugh from low in his chest that rose up and burst from him in delighted appreciation. Samantha was stunned - she had never, ever, in their six years together, seen him laugh like this. She had occasionally wondered if he ever _did_ _really_ laugh. Now she almost wept herself, pleased beyond reckoning to have drawn this, too, out of him.

"_Entirely_ agree!" He managed to say when he'd composed himself again.

He reached down to pull the top-sheet and the coverlet up over them. He swept her hair out of her eyes, stroked her flushed cheek softly with the backs of his fingers as they faced each other on the pillow.  
>Christopher murmured, shaking his head slightly in disbelief,<br>"Dearest girl… Sam. My darling wife…"

They kissed gently, watched each other tenderly, their eyelids growing heavy, until both fell asleep, not knowing who had drifted away first.

tbc...


	2. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 36(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Foyle and Samantha jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement intended.

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><p>UXB Chapter 36 (M-rated version)<p>

_**A/N:**_ There is further maligning and impugning of the character of the late Adam Wainwright, which some readers may feel goes rather beyond what is strictly necessary, but plot-wise is useful.

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><p><em><strong>Friday morning...<strong>_

As Foyle's brain worked its way through early morning unconsciousness he became aware of an undefined general sense of euphoria, and as his conscious mind emerged slowly from sleep he wondered why and what had given rise to the feeling. But he was content in this semi-conscious state simply to lie in his warm and comfortable bed, head supported on the soft pillow, and enjoy the timeless moment. Swimming upwards to consciousness, he found his limbs felt pleasantly heavy, as if they'd been exercised in some enjoyable but unusual labour. He hadn't yet reached a level of cognizance to recall what that had been. But he knew he was smiling.

A cool waft of crisp autumn air from the open window brought him further into the room. The fragrant aroma of a very good cup of tea woke him almost completely, and he rolled lazily onto his back. Then tea-flavoured, tea-warmed velvet lips were pressed to his and he opened his eyes, surprised. Samantha's contented face and bright brown eyes hovered over him,

"D'you know you've been smiling in your sleep for twenty minutes?" She remarked quietly by way of greeting, kissed him once more and drifted away to rest on her elbow beside him.

His smile widened as his eyes closed again, recalling last night,  
>"G'morning, Sam."<p>

She teased softly, "_...Good morning, Sir!_" as if she'd just arrived to drive him to the Station.

He rolled his head and his eyes in concert towards her, still smiling. She wore only her blue dressing gown, unbelted, and her skin was pink from the bath. He saw a pot of tea and two cups on her bedside table.

"You've been up a while." He observed.

"I'm not the only one." Her eyes flicked downwards, then a brow arched up.

Foyle tucked in his chin and saw the bedclothes were peaked above his midpoint.  
>"<em>Ehmm-h<em>. I see." He felt his face go warm, as all this was rather new. Particularly _that_.

"_'Arise and shine'_..." Sam murmured, looking heavenward and misquoting _Isaiah_.

"_Ah-heh_..." He gave a slight embarrassed laugh, "Wll, let me just, _um_..." He gestured vaguely out the bedroom door, then held the covers aside, sitting up and turning away from her. Christopher reached to snatch his dressing gown from the floor, pulled it around his arms and stood to make his way to the bathroom. He found he had to lay a hand over himself to walk out with some semblance of dignity.

"Cup of tea, darling...? There was a packet of _Twinings_ in the basket!" She called after him.

"_Er_, lovely, yess." Foyle was grinning as he shut the bathroom door.

In not too many minutes he returned, clean and fresh and, in more than one sense, at ease. But not for long. From the doorway he caught sight of a virtually naked Samantha on the bed in mid-full body-stretch: toes splayed towards him, spine arched, ribcage and breasts high, arms over her head and eyes shut tight in the luxury of it. He gripped the outer door-frame, nearly knocked breathless by the rush of desire that overtook him, and closed his own eyes momentarily.

When he opened them again, she was in repose, relaxed, long bare legs crossed casually at the ankles. Sam was admiring her engagement ring, a soft smile playing over her lips. Her silky blue robe was pooled around her, an edge drawn modestly across her middle, and her strawberry-blonde hair floated in waves on the pillow. Christopher was very tempted to dive into that pool of blue. He felt the barometer of his interest rising rapidly.

But his usual restraint and considerate manners held sway over his impulse, and, biting his lip, he again laid a hand over himself, through the pocket of his dressing gown, and walked calmly around to his side of the bed. Propping the new pillow on the headboard he got back in beside her, sitting up and arranging the covers around his waist. Sam did the same, though she was quite heedless of the open drape of her robe, pert breasts peeking out.

"Shall I pour? It's still hot."

"Delightful. Thank-you, Sam."

Before seeing to that, though, she turned towards him with a smile,  
>"A <em>proper<em> good morning first. You weren't awake."

He reached gladly for her, caressing her cheek and informing her, drily,  
>"Ss-certainly am <em>now<em>..."

They shared several brief affectionate kisses, Sam chuckling at the rasp of his morning whiskers. But instead of fetching his cup of tea she stayed close, her expression becoming serious, and leant in to speak softly by his ear.  
>"May I...may I tell you something?"<p>

"Of course." With a fond smile he inclined his head to listen.

"I...I'd never felt _anything_ like...what we did last night, ..._before_."

"...Nnnever?" He asked, deceptively lightly, trying not to think too uncharitably of her late husband.

"Never. I...had no _idea_, really. Was rather beginning to wonder...what all the fuss was about, actually. But, _gosh_, ...now I know why it leads people into such trouble."

Foyle fought to keep a straight face, nodding, and offered,  
>"<em>Well<em>, _em,_ perhaps you'd care to, _er_...?" He nuzzled into her glossy hair, slightly damp from the bath, and breathed in her sweet scent.

She drew back to look at him, nodding eagerly and quite innocently. "Yes, I would! Very much. Every night!"

A little wide-eyed, he studied her expression, wondering what on earth the state of her marriage had _been_. He put a hand up to pull her close again, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.  
>"<em>Er<em>, you know, Sam, ...it _all_ works the same... in daylight." He gave her a quick smile and kissed her.

She blushed, "Yes, well, I suppose it does. I just thought one di-." She stopped. "D'you mean we-? Could we-? ...Now?"

He swallowed, astounded at her naïveté - or rather, at the more likely cause of her amazement over the suggestion, her late husband's appalling lack of enterprise - and kissed her again.

"Absolutely. ...Wwould you prefer I shaved? Only take a moment."

Sam's eyes scanned his for several seconds, pondering this new possibility, then she touched her fingers to his bristled cheek, and hesitantly smiled,  
>"Oh! That might be... Yes, Christopher. Thank-you."<p>

He leaned in to kiss her a third time, "Be right back." And rose to walk out again, but he stopped at the threshold to tease her, as she'd done him when he'd first woken, in a version of his policeman's command,  
>"Wait here for me, Sam."<p>

She grinned, "Right-oh, Sir."

Leaning back on the headboard, bright-eyed, Sam put a hand over her mouth, contemplating her good fortune. And she couldn't help comparing these prospects to her months with Adam.

The truth was, her young husband had been rather diffident with her from the start, and hadn't made much progress over the months of their marriage. He had only ever sought to have relations with her late in the evening, in the dark. These encounters had been rather perfunctory, and had never delivered the sort of thrill that had been hinted at by other girls she knew.

And after several weeks of this, _she_ became the bold one, usually initiating things. If she tried to encourage him at other times, and in other ways, he had always put her off with an embarrassed laugh or a short rebuff, as if what she was asking was quite out of the question. She had tried to accept that as the norm. But she'd been troubled and dissatisfied to the point that she had sought advice in published marriage and sex guides.

After reading various informative and moralistic texts, Sam had been torn between the notion that she should more properly _admire_ her husband for his restraint and self-control, and the reality that she was deeply unsatisfied by their only weekly or even fortnightly unions. In her worry she began to lose weight, had even begun to question her own 'normality.' Was she oversexed? Depraved? Surely not.

Then, on the day she had found it, she read all one hundred and twenty pages of Dr. Marie Stopes' _Married Love_, and she had wept with relief at the passage, _'Prudish or careless husbands, content with their own satisfaction, little know the pent-up aching, or even resentment, which may eat into a wife's heart and ultimately affect her whole health.'_

But her attempts to share the booklet with Adam had not been well-received, and she had begun to accept that _he_ was, perhaps, _under-_sexed, for whatever reasons, and that this would be her lot. Then the sad misfortune of her miscarriage, in her mind took on tragic proportions, and compounded her sense of inadequacy, even failure. She didn't know _when_ Adam had started seeing Vivian, nor at _what point_, in the ten months of their marriage, the cause behind his apparent lack of sexual interest in herself had transitioned from a seeming shyness with his new bride into an affair with this other woman, his former colleague at Bletchley.

But now she was to marry Christopher, and last night he had made spectacularly thrilling, satisfying love to her, and _with him_ everything promised to be very different from her brief, disappointing first marriage. Sam picked up her cup of tea and warmed her hands around it, waiting with happy anticipation for her lover to return.

###

Foyle faced himself in the bathroom mirror, contemplating the strange revelations behind Samantha's comments on their love-making. He winced as he thought about her experience - or rather, _lack_ of experience - over the past year._ Her husband had **never** made love to her in the morning?_ ..._Or the afternoon?_ And she had never... _ever_...felt- before last night? He found this deeply troubling, and frowned with worry at his reflection, leaning on the rim of the sink with a firm grasp.  
>Then he gave the top of his head a quick decisive scratch, turned abruptly and walked back into the bedroom.<p>

Sam looked up from her teacup, surprised, as he came to sit facing her on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on the bedclothes over her thigh,

"Samantha, darling, listen, _em_...," he flashed a reassuring smile, "I'm p-pleased, and _grateful_, you've told me of your...past experience, in your marriage. It's important that... we're completely frank and honest with each other."

He shook his head slightly, choosing his words,  
>"<em>Em...Mmen<em>..._and_ women...well, we _all_ have different levels of..._drive_...and... _interest, em_. But, look, darling, w-want you to know that _**I will be**, em_, available to you at **_any time_**. I'm... at your disposal, sweetheart. Truly. So..."  
>Seeing that she had gone rather goggle-eyed, he took the teacup from her suspended hands, set it down on the bedside table, and held her fingers in his on the coverlet, "Wwould you agree it's best if we... leave the choice, the <em>decision<em>... of time and place, when and where, and, _em_, h-how often, _to you_...?"

She stared at him, blushing, "You mean..., any time I - I felt I wanted... I only have to _ask_?"

"Yes. Just let me know. Give me a signal." He gazed directly into her eyes.

"And you...you wouldn't turn me _down_?"

"Never."

She swallowed, mulled that information over a moment, then her brows knit,  
>"What if I...<em>didn't<em> ask, for a while...?"

"Well, _er_, would you **_mind_**... if _I asked_? Of course, **_you_** have the right to decline."

"But you..._don't_?" Her eyebrow went up, puzzled.

"W'll, can't imagine why I ever _would_...decline." He brought her fingers up to his lips to kiss them, and, though he'd meant to treat the matter soberly, lost his battle not to smile crookedly at her.

She took a breath, and replied in all seriousness,  
>"Well, then, Christopher. No, I <em>wouldn't<em> mind if _you_ asked. Not at all. But somehow... I don't think it will ever come to that."

She finished quite matter-of-factly, but his crooked smile grew to an upside down grin.

His evident good humour over the matter brought to Sam's mind an impish idea, and she sat up taller, making an attempt at a cool, professional look,  
>"Well, I'm very glad we've...got this <em>straight<em>, right from the _very_ beginning..."

He stared a moment, a little open-mouthed, then Foyle poked his tongue into his cheek, appreciating her little dig at his early - and perhaps _overly prolonged_ - authoritarian attempt to curb her enthusiasm. He nodded slowly, eyes sparkling.  
>"Quite."<p>

Sam broke into a warm, loving smile, and threw her arms around his neck.  
>"Ow!" She laughed, and rubbed her cheek where his whiskers had scratched.<p>

"_Warned_ you." He rumbled, lifting her chin with a thumb and forefinger, and after a careful, lingering kiss, he stood again,  
>"...<em>Jolly good<em>. I'll just, _er_..." And he walked out once more.

###

The man that greeted him in the bathroom mirror, now, was bright-eyed and pleased. Foyle nodded to himself for a job well handled, whilst still aghast at Samantha's clearly inadequate sexual past and mystified by her husband's disregard. It struck him as a rather cruel irony that _Sam Stewart_ should have ended up with such an unappreciative husband, having for _six years_ been the strictly off-limits, unspoken object of desire of nearly every man at the Hastings Station.

He ran water into the sink until it was half-full, then shut off the taps, splashed water over his beard and organised his shaving things. As he lathered his brush he suddenly recalled their invitation for that evening.

"_Er_, Sam, what time are we expected at the Reids'?"

"Oh, seven, Elaine said."

They carried on a conversation from room to room.

"Right..." His voice betrayed a slight unease.

"You don't mind that I accepted, do you?" She asked, listening.

A sound of a razor being stropped.  
>"...Nno, of course not." Then he added, repeating his remark from their first discussion of the news, "Looking forward to it."<p>

He went quiet, focusing on the task at hand and noting grimly in the mirror that now nearly all his whiskers were silver, or even white. He applied the soap to his beard, and shaving was well underway when Sam appeared at the door, a troubled crease between her brows.

"Are you... worried about what they'll think of..., well, of _us_?"

He didn't answer right away, but glanced sideways at her,  
>"Wull…"<p>

"He's a good friend, Mr. Reid, isn't he?" She twisted the tie of her robe around her fingers.

Foyle completed the last strokes of the razor up his throat,  
>"<em>Eh<em>, yes..."

He bit the inside of his cheek as he washed off the blade, drained and rinsed the sink.

"Things were all right at the party, weren't they?" She asked quietly.

"_'Things'_ ...were _wonderful_ at the party." He gave her a smile, then washed the soap residue from his face. After toweling himself dry, he went to her, seeing her look of doubt, and put his hands on her upper arms,  
>"Sam. Yes, I am a little...worried. It's...well, suppose it's because Hugh and I...we've had <em>conversations<em>, in the past, about _other_ men, who..._em_..."

"Were _cradle-snatchers_?" She tilted her head in mild exasperation.

"_Hmh_. Sorry. It's _my problem_. Just have to face him, and...any _remarks_ he may feel entitled to make... As we've said, there's not much to be _done_ about it - mmy age, your age."

"He's your _friend_, Christopher. And he knows _both_ of us. He knows I was _married_. And... I _am_ nearly thirty. Hardly a...an _ingénue_."

"You're quite right. ...Absolutely no reflection on _you_. But, _men_, y'know," he wrinkled his nose, "...we like to give each other a ribbing. I'll just have to take it."  
>Then he added with a winning quirk of an eyebrow,<br>"Certainly worth it. Being with you, _marrying_ **you**, Sweetheart..."

Sam looked at him adoringly, entirely placated.  
>He picked up her hand and laid her palm on his clean-shaven cheek,<br>"Do I, _um_, pass inspection, Sergeant-Major?"

She answered his question with an evaluative kiss by his ear, then moved her lips to further test the smoothness of his jawline, chin and right cheek, finally settling and lingering on his mouth.

"_Hmmm_, you'll _do_, soldier. Now, fall in!" She did an about-turn, grinning, and led him to the bedroom, humming the tune to _'Kiss Me Good-night, Sergeant Major.'_

He followed eagerly, and beside the bed caught her up in his arms from behind, caressing her slowly through the silky fabric of her dressing gown, murmuring endearments and tender enquiries, kissing the side of her neck. He was soon quite ready, breathing against her shoulder, and he untied her tasselled belt, moved aside her robe to stroke her breasts, her belly, and he glided his right hand downwards to the join of her legs. Samantha surged and ebbed under his touch, already moaning soft urgent cries of pleasure. Christopher found her remarkably responsive, and this did much to raise his own confidence after a nearly uninterrupted fourteen-year sexual interval.

"Darling...," he breathed into her ear, "did you, _em, enjoy_...what I did last night?"

Between open-mouthed panting she answered with an entertained smile, "You mean..., your _dessert_...? Yes..._god_, yes! Do... please help yourself..., any time...!"

With a grin he shed his robe and drew hers off, tossing them onto a nearby chair, paused to cup both her breasts, massaging them upwards, kissing her shoulder, before sliding his hands to her hips to pull her bottom against his firm erection. He groaned, pushing and throbbing upright between the globes of her soft cheeks. Then he turned her and brought her down onto the bed with him. They lay together, kissing hungrily, crossways on the mattress, exploring each other with hands and mouths. Yet when Christopher began to move down her body, she held his upper arm to arrest him and breathed anxiously,  
>"I loved the way you..., but Darling, I <em>do so<em> want to have a baby..."

His heart melted and he returned to kiss her softly, "Shall do my _utmost_ to see to it..."

Smiling lovingly into her eyes, he slid a hand down her trim, flat belly to stroke and massage it gently, "Soon put that to rights, Sweetheart. W-which would you prefer, Sam, a boy or a girl...?"

Sam saw his self-mocking arched eyebrow and beamed her amusement at him with a shy grin, but he saw the tears spring to her eyes, and then her smile waver with the surfacing of other pent up emotions. His brow creased in tender concern and he drew her with him onto their sides again, pulled the coverlet across them and held her close, resting his lips on her temple,  
>"Best way to ensure a baby, m'love, is to relax about it, try not to worry..."<p>

She nodded quickly several times, eyelids shut, then opened them wide to look into his eyes, smiling again, and whispered, "_And have lots of sex...!_"

"Yep."

He drew her hand down and over his still ready though less rampant member, and she tried a few cautious, encouraging caresses, which met with instant success. He breathed sharply in, stroked her hip and between her legs. Christopher took the time to allow her excitement to build again, pressing her onto her back, mouthing her breasts, teasing her nipples into rigidity, and below, circling and probing her with his fingers, into her own wet, wild readiness.  
>He mounted between her raised thighs, then paused to beg in an urgent growl,<br>"_Put me in, Sam. Guide me in..._"  
>Open-mouthed, large-eyed, she slid her hand from his back, down to his hip and onto the sturdy root of him. Taking a firm grasp she angled the head to her opening, and felt his hot, potent length slide slowly through her fingers and deep inside her, with a heady thrill of confidence in the power of their coupling.<p>

Then there was no need for words, but their communication was clear and unequivocal - promising, advising, teaching, persuading, and conducting each other to a glorious consummation.

Again they subsided together onto the bed, gasping, cooing sweet gratitude, one to the other. When they'd caught their breath, Christopher reached for a pillow, drew her close with her slender back against him, and they spooned, warm and sated under the bedclothes. They slept a little, then came back into a half-conscious doze.

When he felt Sam stir in his arms, Christopher buried his nose in her hair, kissed her behind the ear. She was quiet, he felt her breathing evenly, yet without seeing her expression, he sensed that Sam was awake, and asked,

"Nneed any _help_, Samantha...?"

She turned her face up from the pillow to look back at him from the corner of her eye, "With what?"

"_Thinking_...? I can tell, y'know."

She grinned and laid her head down.  
>"Well, yes, I <em>was<em> just thinking about something... Wondering something."

"If I can _help_...?" He moved to kiss her downy cheek, then settled again to listen.

"...I was _wondering_, darling, ...w-what _was_ it, on the day I arrived, that made you think I might be... with child?"

"Ah. Well, I, _em_... I suppose it was a certain, _er_, ..._glow_ about you, the sparkle in your eyes... You seemed so very _different_ from..._Llondon_, and... _em_, thought you looked...'blooming,' Sam…"

She turned over in place to look at him directly, lips parted in surprise,  
>"Oh but, <em>Christopher<em>, that was...because of _you_. It was seeing _you_, being... _with you_ again! And... beginning to suspect that... you_ loved_ me."

He blinked with emotion at her answer, then registered the latter part, and lowered his eyebrows,  
>"Suspec-? But, I'd already <em>kissed<em> you, Sam...!"

"Yes, that's true, darling, but ...haven't you always taught me not to jump to conclusions? You hadn't _said so_, yet."

He laughed softly, "Waiting for the confession, _hmm_? Detective Stewart?" And kissed her on the nose.

Sam burrowed into him under his chin,  
>"<em>So much<em> easier than collecting the evidence, darling." Then pulled back with a self-conscious frown,  
>"<em>Er<em>, I meant... Well, you _did_...confess, later, on the very first day. And I've been... _quite enjoying_ collecting the evidence ever since..."

Smiling, he murmured,  
>"Wull..., you've got your <em>confession<em>, and, _em_," he nodded to indicate their position in bed together, squeezing his arms around her, "..._strong evidence_ for a conviction."

_**tbc...**_

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Note: <strong>

_Married Love, Or, Love in Marriage__ by Marie Carmichael Stopes, Sc.D., Ph.D., _was published in 1918 by a very small publishing house, after being turned down by many other larger publishers. It was banned in America (despite the title page indicating it was printed there) until 1931, but in England it quickly sold out and went through six printings within a fortnight! In 1935 American Academics voted it one of the 25 most influential books of the previous 50 years. (Wikipedia) Well worth reading today, and available online through wikisource dot org._  
><em>


	3. FW 1946: UXB Chapter 37(M)

**Disclaimer**_**: **__Foyle's War _was created by Anthony Horowitz, and the characters of Christopher Foyle and Samantha Stewart/Wainwright jointly created by Mr. Horowitz, Mr. Michael Kitchen and Ms. Honeysuckle Weeks. No infringement is intended. Merely a fan tribute.

* * *

><p>UXB Chapter 37 (M-rated version)<p>

_**Friday continues...**_

It was getting rather hot in the bed, and not, as yet, from further amorous activity. Foyle had always been an exceptionally warm-bodied man, throwing off enough heat that he rarely felt the cold. Even in the depths of winter, he generally lay under only a sheet and a light coverlet, rather than an eiderdown, and always kept the window open at night. Now, with a soft, warm body cuddled up close to him, delightful as that was, he found he was becoming overheated as they dozed indolently together. Not wishing to disturb his lovely armful of Sam, he pushed a foot out behind and kicked the covers off, exposing half a leg to the cool air to regulate his temperature, his own version of an elephant's ear-waving.

Samantha had hardly moved a muscle since they'd resettled lengthwise on the mattress after their earlier post-coital confessions, and she was still snuggled under his chin, an arm draped comfortably over his hip. Now she rustled against him, then rolled away onto her back, bringing her elbows up with a small stretch and a yawn.

"_Hmmm_, too warm, darling? Me too..."

Her cream and pink breasts bobbed up beautifully, and Foyle, propping his head on a hand, smiled appreciatively, watching her nipples pucker and peak as the room's cool October air licked round them. He felt himself respond to the wondrous sight, and he was fairly certain that, with any encouragement, he'd be able to perform again.

"_Mm-entirely_ my fault. ...Ros-."  
>He stopped, realizing with a slight start and a flash of conscience that it was the first time he'd spontaneously mentioned his late wife - the first time he'd been on the verge of letting down the careful guard he kept around her memory, to say something about her that wasn't safely cloaked in a generality.<br>And perhaps _this_ was not the best location to do that.

Sam rubbed a knuckle into the corner of her eye, and regarded him from her pillow with a watchful compassion,  
>"...Christopher?"<br>Then she nodded two or three times, slowly, encouragingly, as she quoted his own words back to him,  
>"<em>'It's <strong>important<strong>... that we're completely **frank**... and honest with each other...'_?"

But he only chewed his lower lip, feeling caught out.

Looking off towards the wardrobe, she said quickly and quietly,  
>"You can tell me anything, you know. ...I won't <em>quiz<em> you, but I would _hope_ that, ..._soon_, you'll feel you're able to talk to me...of Rosalind." She turned back and studied his reaction.

He couldn't help a long sigh of reluctance - _or was it relief?_ - then answered,  
>"Yes. Th-thank-you, Sam... I, <em>umm<em>..." But winced and found he couldn't go on.

She bit her lip, and decided to try a mild inducement,  
>"What...<em>were<em> you about to say...?" adding charmingly, making large innocent eyes at him,  
>"- Oh, but that <em>is<em> quizzing, isn't it?"

His mouth twitched in amusement, and he surrendered to her gentle persuasion,  
>"Well, I'll <em>give<em> you that one. _Em_... On the subject of _heat_..." He addressed the near corner of her pillow, "...Ssimply that ...Rosalind used to say ...we saved a small fortune in fuel costs as there was no need to light the gasfire if, _um_..., if she sent me in to warm the bed _first_." He glanced up to observe her response.

Sam smiled affectionately,  
>"Very practical. And I'm glad to know it. I shall do the <em>same<em>."  
>Gazing up into his eyes, which glowed warmly now at her words, she lifted her palm to his cheek, brushed her thumb across the ridge of his cheekbone, and gave him a peck on the lips, a little reward for his candour.<p>

Then Samantha courteously changed the subject. She looked dreamily at the ceiling, tucking the same hand behind her head, "I wonder if I'm pregnant, _now_...?"

Relieved by her easy and unoffended response, and diverted by her remark, not to mention the loveliness of her exposed breasts, Christopher stowed away his past again and joined her in the present.  
>And he <em>didn't laugh<em>, knowing she had her heart set on this, but the factual part of his mind insisted on informing her, "...It doesn't happen _quite_ that fast, darling. But, _em_… let's do all we **_can_** to, _uh_, help things along." And he almost waggled his eyebrows at her.

Sam _did_ laugh, "Well, as _soon_ as we can, yes!"

A jovially raised eyebrow remained arched, but he tilted his head, sensing another gap in her marital or physiological knowledge, "_Umhh_, whenever you like..."

Still smiling, her eyes flicked over to him and away again, then her humorous take on the matter was slowly replaced by a dawning idea. She turned back, with a slight frown, to ask, "Oh..., d'you mean...? _Ssoon_...?"

"_Emmh_... Fairly soon." He said lightly. "You mmight want something from the kitchen, first. Don't intend to starve you, Sam."  
>He reached behind for his watch on the bedside table. Samantha admired the view of his upper torso stretching backwards, his raised arm lending definition to his pectorals. He looked at the time and his face registered mild surprise,<br>"We've missed breakfast, and, _um_, will be _fashionably late_ for lunch! Shall we...?" A nod of his head gestured her towards the door. To his amazement, in light of this offering of food, Sam made no move to climb out of their soft nest.

"Well, _I'd_ be _perfectly_ happy just to fetch something from the basket...!" She grinned bashfully, "And come straight back _here_."

"F-fair enough." Suppressing a smile, he repaid her earlier peck on the lips, then he gave up all resistance to her pert nipple and latched on to it for a full minute, circling his head in total enjoyment, eventually mumbling around it,  
>"...You'll need something more nourishing than chocolate, mind you."<p>

"Look who's talking...!" She chided happily, and relaxed her head on the pillow as she let him 'feed.'  
>Christopher chuckled against the yielding flesh of her breast.<p>

When he switched sides, Sam rested a hand on the back of his neck, her eyes drifting closed at the stimulating sensations of his mouth and tongue. He rolled cow-like eyes upwards to watch her, and smiled to see her lick her lips and then her mouth fall open with pleasure. He caressed the underside of her breast with his fingers and, as there was no sign of impatience on her part, glided his hand down her front to the gentle rise of her mound. Her ribcage rose with an indrawn breath, and he made his move, shifting down the bed and drawing a slender leg over his shoulder.  
>Christopher cupped her peach-like bottom in the palms of his hands, stroked and massaged her with his thumbs, and applied a dedicated attention and practiced method with his tongue and lips. Samantha was soon panting helplessly, rolling on a wave towards her climax, but he heard a note of anxiety in her moans.<p>

He whispered to her,  
>"<em>Mmm-Come<em> for me, Sweetheart...It's all right... There's more on offer..."  
>He lavished concentration on her hard little bud until he brought her completely over the edge, her cries verging on tearful gasps, then he eased her down with gentle licks and kisses. As her bucking slowed, he kissed his way up to lie beside her, taking her in his arms under the covers.<br>Sam folded herself against him, breathing fast and pressing into him with small shivers of ecstasy. He ran his arm up and down the warm silken skin of her back, soothing her until she calmed. But then he drew away a little, to insinuate his hand between her legs again, and began a slow soft stroking over her swollen flesh. She moaned again, this time cooing a wordless question.

He took the opportunity to engage in a little helpful instruction, all the while giving gentle ministrations between her thighs, murmuring into her hair,  
>"Yyou know, Sam, <em>women<em>... have the _advantage_ over men... They can be ready again _sooner_, and achieve full...completion, more often. _Mmultiple_ times, in fact."

He kissed her fevered cheek as she whispered back, open-mouthed,  
>"Th-they <em>can<em>? I mean-, we _can_? I-I didn't know that..."

"Oh, yes..." He inserted a finger and began stroking inside her very wet passage, still pulsing from her climax, and was rewarded with her soft rising mewls of sweet apprehension. He pressed parted lips to her damp brow, exquisitely aroused himself, but holding back in order to demonstrate his point,  
>"...Sso, you needn't <em>worry<em>..., my darling - if you should...finish _first_, or finish in another _way_ - that we can't, _ah_, go _again_... and try for a baby. The_ limits_...are all on the man's side." With his free hand he caught hers and pressed it to his proud, hard length.

"_Oh, gohd...Oh my gohd...!_" Sam groaned desperately into his neck, even more stimulated by the feel of his erection, and though she grasped him tightly, was far too distracted to think of offering him any help. He rocked his fingers inside and over her, stroked her rigid nub with his thumb, and brought her writhing to her third climax of the day, a mere few minutes after her second.

Yet even before her shuddering completely subsided, Samantha clutched his lower back, pulling him closer, and she threw her knee over his leg, giving every indication that she wanted him inside her.  
>Christopher sought her mouth and plunged in, savouring her tongue with his. She took him in hand again and began directing his ingress. But he had something more in mind and, with an urgent groan, rolled onto his back, lifting her by the hips above him. He lowered her to sink slowly down onto his firm shaft, gently impaling her. Samantha raised her head, planted her hands on his broad shoulders, and pushed herself up. She hung over him, her strawberry-blonde hair falling forwards, mouth agape in surprised ecstasy. She drew up her other knee so that she was properly astride him.<br>Christopher watched her face, open-mouthed and breathless himself, and pushed tentatively back on her hips, then drew her forwards. Wild-eyed, Sam instinctively took over, and began riding him at a slow, then gradually increasing pace that had them both moaning their delight.  
>He revelled in the sensation of holding her slender hips between his hands, guiding, adjusting or simply following her motions over him. But as their rate quickened, he shifted to hold her by the upper arms, to bear some of her weight, sensing she was fatiguing from the morning's exertions. It was just what she needed to take flight, and soon, keening and growling in unison, they found the ideal angle and speed that sent them both rocketing to a sublime, powerful completion.<br>When he was able, he brought her down onto his heaving chest, enfolding her in his arms, caressing her head against his cheek. Eyes closed, he purred aloud in grateful appreciation of her efforts.

* * *

><p>Lying on their sides once more, eyeing each other rather triumphantly, with tender smiles, he smoothed her tousled hair back from her damp brow again. And as he softened and slipped out of her, Sam gave a little whimper of protest and complaint.<p>

"Samantha, darling," Christopher murmured solicitously, "...'fraid your tea's gone cold."

She broke into a fit of giggles, then fretted on his behalf,  
>"And you didn't have <em>any<em>...!"  
>She lovingly stroked his temple, her deep brown eyes adoring his sky blue ones.<br>"_Poor dear man_... I'm not setting a very good standard as your wife. You'll be... leaving about a copy of _'Mrs. Beeton's'_ next, never mind _'A Guide for Inquiry Agents.'_"

"_Llast_ thing on my mind, at the moment."  
>He paused to discreetly extract a little golden curly hair from between his tongue and his cheek,<br>"_Must_ feed you soon, though, Sam. Can't bring you to the Reids' for dinner having only _just had_ lunch..."

"No, even _my appetite_ doesn't run to two meals back to back. ...Well, not for _food_, at least." She smiled shyly at him and her cheeks flushed a little more pink.  
>Christopher detected a question in her eyes, and propped his head on his hand again, lifting an eyebrow, "You can <em>ask me<em> anything, you know…?"

"Can I?" she bit her lower lip, "Well…" Now her face went quite red, but she really wanted to know. She propped herself on an elbow as well, and trailed a finger over his collarbone, to ask earnestly, "How- how often _can_ you…?"

"Well, _em_," he glanced at her, balancing his answer between a fear of seeming to boast and a worry of setting up expectations that were yet to be tested,  
>"...Of course...<em><strong>mmy<strong>, er_, service records, so to speak, date back some _fourteen_ years. Must take that into _account_, darling. Doubt I'd have the same, _er_...performance _now_. But, _em_, in my _thirties_...used to manage...twice an hour...fairly regularly, at weekends."

"_Twice an -!_ For how long…?".

"Oh. _Um_, couple hours in the morning. Or a few hours in the afternoon. Dependent on circumstances, of course."

With an almost stricken expression Sam fell back on the pillow and put her hands to her cheeks, "_Oh my g-. And I tho-!_"

"_Wwhat_, sweetheart?" He asked with mild alarm.

"Once a _fortnight!_ If I was lucky."

"...Oh." He said very quietly, with a look of concerned discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut.  
>"I thought I was...<em>depraved<em>...or ...something... When I wanted..."

He saw she was a little distraught. Christopher laid his head on the pillow too, gathered her close and kissed her forehead, smoothing the upset away with his thumb,  
>"Nonno, darling. Certainly not. Perfectly normal...and <em>healthy<em>."

After a moment Sam exhaled a vexed sigh through her nose, summing up her feelings on the matter,  
>"<em>Honestly...!<em>"  
>When she opened her eyes she fixed on his with an appeal,<br>"Well, I'd _very much_ like to make up for lost time!"

He nodded once to show his willing agreement,  
>"Can rely on <em>me<em>, sweetheart… But, _em_," a concerned furrow formed between his eyebrows, and he found himself uttering an entirely new worry, "..._rrreally_ must **feed you, **Sam, before we, _emmh_... _Sh-shouldn't_ we?"

"Well, all right, but just a quick bite. Unless _you're_, _um_...?"

"No! Nno, perfectly fine with me."

Bright-eyed, Christopher mentally calculated further plans to help her catch up.

* * *

><p>to be continued...<p> 


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